Here and There

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

The Grown Ups at the Kindergarten Play

I happened to watch one side of the audience during "Chicken Soup With Rice" at the play and was stunned by how beautiful it was to watch the families watch the children.
The Grown Ups at the Kindergarten Play

It was almost like flash bulbs flashing, but it was their shining eyes blinking.
All the phone screens, they were horizontal, filming.  
But there was still this twinkling about the whole thing:  
Like gems catching the light, sun on the pond.

They were all standing there, half standing, sitting there.
They had forgotten where they were, so charmed they were.
Chuckles and sighs escaped like steam from underneath the lid of a boiling pot.  
Bubbles of pride and delight becoming “aha-has” or a little “oh”.

It didn’t matter what the song or the motion was.  
The kids either sang, or didn’t sing.  They did the motions, or they forgot.  
But seeing them up there had inside-outed the adults’ affection and it was extravagant.

They were so lovely to watch as they were watching,
standing there, half standing, sitting there.
They weren’t hoping for anything for the kids.  
They weren’t dreaming of anything for the kids.  
They were happy to see them up there, just as themselves.

Grown ups, can you feel it?  Can you feel that love coming at you from the audience?  
For you, when you learn, when you forget, when you just sit there, remembering the school play.

There is a presence who is agog at you on your stage, so full of bright love, not even hoping you’ll be anything better than you.

Sunday, May 01, 2016

May begins

Just finished Death Comes for the Archbishop yesterday.  Beautiful.  I loved this passage:

"The ride back to Santa Fe was something under four hundred miles. The weather alternated between blinding sand-storms and brilliant sunlight.  The sky was as full of motion and change as the desert beneath it was monotonous and still,--and there was so much sky, more than at sea, more than anywhere else in the world.  The plain was there, under one's feet but what one saw when one looked about was that brilliant blue world of stinging air and moving cloud.  Even the mountains were mere ant-hills under it.  Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky.  The landscape one longed for when one was far away, the thing all about one, the world one actually lived in, was the sky, the sky!"

I also had the suspicion and it was confirmed this evening that my personality type which used to be solidly ENFP is now INFP.  How have I become an introvert?  When exactly did it happen?  I felt it, but I was reluctant to acknowledge it.  And how is it that Peter's is ENTJ?

May will be a busy month, but I hope to spend lots of time working in the garden, watching the chickens, listening to music, drinking deliciously herby cocktails, reading good books and writing more poems.